


the sky wears a garment of sand

by the_ragnarok



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing Kink, Lingerie, M/M, Nipple Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 04:03:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6408007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a <a href="http://the-ragnarok.dreamwidth.org/36632.html?thread=236824#cmt236824">kinkfest prompt</a>: fic where Harold makes John crossdress or wear makeup or jewellery or push past his gender-presentation comfort zone in some other way, then John is really, shamefully, confusedly into it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the sky wears a garment of sand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Toft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toft/gifts).



"I would like you to wear this," Harold says, demeanor mostly calm except for the slight pursing of his mouth.

John reads it as clear as 16-point text in broad daylight: Harold is afraid of rejection and trying to hide it. That decides John's answer for him before he even opens the box. John wasn't kidding around when he told Harold "Anything." If it's a clown costume, John's still putting it on.

It's not a clown costume. Instead it's a little black dress, although given John's height it's not in fact all that little, and lacy panties.

"I hope they fit comfortably," Harold says, when John lifts up said panties, trying to figure out how to put them on. "They're manufactured for, well, people with your anatomy, so to speak: they're supposed to be quite comfortable. And discreet." Harold's ears turn very slightly pink, at that.

Now there's a delightful thought. "Are we going out, Harold?" John critically eyes the costume. Somebody in John's height, wearing a dress, is going to draw attention no matter what they do, especially since John knows for a fact he doesn't have the right walk to make this outfit work.

"No." Harold swallows. "Still. I care about details."

At that, John has to smile. "I know." He holds the clothes in his hand for a moment. "Want me to put them on here?"

Harold gives him a small answering smile. "Let's maintain a little mystery, shall we? Come out if you need a hand zipping up."

John doesn't think he will. He nods anyway, and Harold leaves. He undresses with a former soldier's efficiency.

It's something of a surprise when the panties slide right up his thighs, sitting snug. It shouldn't be: Harold would never buy him anything ill-fitting. The fabric itself is very soft, not at all scratchy, snug without being painfully tight.

John catches himself a moment later, realizing he's been thumbing the material where it rests over his hipbone, mesmerized by the feel of fabric contrasted with skin. He shakes himself off.

There isn't a bra in the ensemble, but there is a strapless camisole. John slips it on. It fits just as well, clinging to his form while still maintaining shape. The material is too sheer to really offer insulation, and yet it still feels warm.

The dress comes last. The way it settles on John is a little odd. He's not used to his collarbones, his shoulders, being exposed: the straps hug his upper arm, giving the impression of a cleavage while not actually making it look like he has breasts.

Or, well. John does have pecs, which the dress doesn't hide. Or expose, really. They're just... there, much more present than in John's customary button-down shirts.

His nipples are just barely visible when he looks down. The camisole does a good job of hiding them: they've hardened into stiff little points while he put the clothes on. John only realizes he's reaching for them when his hand is halfway up.

There's a gentle cough from the doorway. Harold says, "You should touch yourself if you want to."

John's not all that sure he does. His brain isn't, anyway: his hand seems pretty intent on rising up to check what it feels to be touched through the fabric.

A small, helpless noise slips out of John's mouth as he gently rubs his own nipple. His hips snap forward once, and he's turning red, baffled and confused at his own reaction. "Jesus, Harold," John says, dazed. "Did you put something in this?"

"Are you asking if I drugged your clothes?" Harold asks, amused. He steps closer. "No, I didn't."

"Fuck." John can't stop touching himself, Christ, it feels too good. It's all so _soft_ , irresistible and inescapable, literally wrapped around his skin.

"I would like that." Harold's tone is low with desire, and it makes John shudder. 

Another shudder passes through him when Harold's hand lands on the small of his back, gently urging him forward, towards the safe house's bedroom. John lets himself be directed. Harold's touch feels brandingly hot, hotter than it is when Harold's skin is bare on his. It's uncanny.

Before, John never paid particular attention to the mirror beside the bed. It was good for making sure nobody sneaked on him: John never really noticed how he _looked_ in it before. Now, though, he has Harold standing behind him, and John can see his expression mirrored: satisfaction and arousal and a hint of smugness.

John doesn't look like a woman. He looks like himself, in a dress, and inexplicably, he looks _good_. 

"Now carry on," Harold says, slightly breathless with excitement. "Keep doing what you were doing before."

Normally, John would tease, ask Harold what precisely he was talking about. Now John draws shaky breath and palms himself through the dress, watches himself go hard, tent the fabric. 

"You're incredibly appealing like this," Harold murmurs. "Of course, you're incredibly appealing anyway, but the clothes are a nice bonus."

John's cock twitches. He feels himself leaking inside his panties. "Careful," John says, voice a little more hoarse than usual. "Or I'll ruin this nice dress."

Harold makes a dismissive noise. "Nothing a good soak won't solve," he says, and John leaks a little more wondering exactly how Harold came by knowledge of removing come stains from silk.

Harold's hand dips lower down John's back, possessively palming his ass, then sinking lower to momentarily rest on his upper thigh. Harold rucks John's skirt up, feeling him through his panties, grabbing and squeezing. " _Very_ appealing."

"Glad to hear it." John's voice has gone breathy.

Harold pushes the panties down. From the front, the only visible indication of indecency is John's silhouetted erection. The air of the room is slightly cool on John's exposed ass, moreso when he spreads his legs to let Harold rub a spit-slick finger over his hole.

For another moment, Harold keeps up the tease. Then he kisses John's nape and tells him to stay put, steps away and comes a moment later with lube and a condom.

He opens John up with competent efficiency, not bothering too much with finesse. It would have been wasted anyway. It's all John can do to groan and hold on when Harold spreads John's cheeks with his thumbs and rocks inside.

"I'd like you to come like this," Harold says after a few thrusts. He has one hand bracing himself against John's thigh, another resting over where John's erection is showing itself. Maddeningly, Harold is only rubbing the head of John's cock, his fingers moving in tight circles, massaging it through soft cloth.

"I'll try," John says haltingly. "I don't know if I can." It's good, it's so good, but it's not enough.

Of course, Harold takes that sort of statement as a challenge. He slightly adjusts his stance to better hit John's sweet spot on each thrust. The movement also puts his mouth right next to John's ear, where he whispers, "I very much enjoy having you like this. Perhaps we should make it a habit?"

John shakes. He doesn't know how to answer that.

Harold doesn't need him to. "Mm, you do look like you're enjoying yourself. Although you could always stand to enjoy yourself more. You're wonderfully tight as you are," Harold's voice cracks on the words, "but when you come around me, oh, you're _exquisite_."

The word coincide with a particularly well-aimed thrust of Harold's cock and the delicious friction of his hand on John's cock, and John is abruptly _there_ : coming, soaking up his panties and the front of his dress.

"Excellent," Harold says, and withdraws. He hushes John's plaintive noise. "All in good time. First, let's look at you." Harold moves around, pushes John's skirt up in the front also, and makes a satisfied hum. "My, aren't you lovely like this."

John wouldn't call himself that. He thinks the word Harold wants is _pornographic_ , with come darkening the front of his panties, his red cock gleaming and still half-hard, visible under the edges of the fabric. 

At the same time, John's not about to object. Especially not since Harold is wide-eyed and red faced, stroking his erection with his eyes fixed on the wreck of John's outfit. "Whenever I like," Harold says, low and mesmerized, and comes, adding to the mess on John's crotch.

"You know," Harold muses in the shower, later, "perhaps we could do with an outing. An evening at the opera, perhaps."

John groans, not only because Harold is soaping his still-sensitive cock. "Not that kind of masochist, Finch."

"Mm, I'll keep you occupied." A smile ghosts across Harold's face. "You know, it would be very easy to keep a vibrator in those undergarments. Several vibrators, even, strategically placed."

John groans again, this time in a different pitch entirely, and resigns himself to coming again painfully soon. "Whatever you like, Harold."

"It's good for you, anyway," Harold says with a faint hint of reproach. "You need to broaden your horizons."

John thinks his horizons were broadened quite enough for now, thanks: but he's too busy coming to say so, and anyway Harold has an annoying tendency to be right about these things.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Silky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7834852) by [disreputabledog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/disreputabledog/pseuds/disreputabledog)




End file.
